Letting Go
by Deana
Summary: Tragedy isn't easy to get over, no matter how hard Aramis tries. (My entry in the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for November.)


Letting Go  
A Musketeers story by Deana  
My entry in the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for November.

I'd intended to make this a longer story, but I got laid-off from my job which decreased my writing time, since I always wrote every day during lunch on my tablet at work!  
Thank you Snow-Glory for the suggestions!

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Aramis wasn't surprised at the soft knock on his door. Before he could call out, it opened and Porthos stuck his head around the corner.

Porthos looked surprised. "You're up."

Aramis smiled. "Of course I am; it's time for breakfast." With that, he put on his hat and crossed over to the door, passing Porthos to go into the hall.

Porthos watched him go, shocked to see his friend in a perfectly normal mood. He followed him into the kitchen and watched as Aramis sat at a table and was immediately approached by Serge.

"Aramis," said the kindly old man. "Please tell me that ya plan to eat."

"Of course I do," Aramis told him. "I'm famished!"

Porthos watched him, still shocked. He barely felt Athos and d'Artagnan approach and stand beside him.

D'Artagnan looked at the two of them, wondering what was wrong. "What is it?"

"Look at 'im," said Porthos.

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis, who'd just stuck his fork into the food on his plate. "What about him?"

"Today is the anniversary of the Savoy Massacre," said Porthos.

D'Artagnan finally understood, and caught his breath with shock. "I was thinking it was literally on Good Friday…I forgot to take into account that the date changes every year."

"Good Friday six years ago was March 28th," Porthos said. "Which is today, holiday or not."

D'Artagnan sighed. "I didn't know about Savoy until _after_ last year's anniversary. I take it that he's acting differently than usual?"

"Very," said Athos, before he strode forward to join Aramis at the table.

"Morning!" Aramis cheerfully said. "Serge has outdone himself today."

Porthos just stared at him, shocked.

"Are you all right?" Athos carefully asked.

"Of course I am," Aramis answered. "Eat; the food is delicious."

The others sat down, eating as Aramis happily chatted. When they were finished, they stood in line for muster and Treville was surprised to see Aramis looking normal. He handed out assignments and watched as the four musketeers walked out of the garrison to patrol the marketplace.

Serge came up to Treville and gestured towards them. "Did you see?"

Treville nodded. "Yes."

"Do you think he's actually gotten over it?" Serge asked.

Treville shook his head, unsure. "I don't know."

"Maybe he was finally able to let it go," said Serge, turning to go back to the kitchen. "I sure hope so."

Treville sighed. "So do I."

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The day was cold but clear, with the sun shining brightly. It hadn't snowed in a couple of weeks and the ground was dry with no evidence of white. All in all, the weather wasn't too unpleasant and the four musketeers patrolled the marketplace without incident.

Aramis continued to act as if it was any other day; smiling and talking, laughing at the antics of some wrestling children. To anyone who didn't know what had happened to him on that date six years prior, they would've thought that nothing was wrong.

But his friends knew better…or so they thought.

"Are the two of you expecting him to suddenly collapse or something?" d'Artagnan asked as they watched Aramis buying some apples.

Athos and Porthos glanced at each other.

"I am not sure," Athos admitted. "Perhaps he genuinely decided to let it go, and will succeed in getting through the entire day whole."

Porthos shook his head. "I don't think so; this is Aramis we're talkin' about. His heart is too big to ignore what happened."

"But this is a _good_ thing," said d'Artagnan. "To recover from tragedy and no longer feel the pain."

"He's feelin' the pain," said Porthos. "Trust me."

That night, they went to the tavern for supper. Aramis was still acting like his usual self, and they ate a delicious chicken dinner and drank their usual wine. Everything was fine until they walked out the tavern door to find the ground turned white with snow.

Flakes steadily fell from the sky to accumulate on the ground, and sudden gunshots sounded, far enough away that the musketeers knew that they'd never find the perpetrator in the dark.

The combination of the snow and shooting sent a chill through Aramis' body that had nothing to do with the weather, and he halted with a gasp.

Everyone looked at him, to see his eyes opened wide. "No," he whispered. He closed his eyes against something that only _he_ could see, and his face rapidly paled.

Moving as one, Athos and Porthos took hold of Aramis and quickly got him mounted on his horse before they all quickly headed back to the garrison. Once there, Porthos pulled Aramis down before he even had a chance to dismount himself, and they brought him to his room.

D'Artagnan lit a fire in the fireplace, and watched as Porthos sat Aramis in the chair that Athos quickly grabbed and set in front of the flames.

Aramis' face was still pale and he was shivering. "I tried," he suddenly said.

"We know," said Porthos, wrapping a blanket around him to chase away the chill.

Aramis blinked. "The recent weather…made it easier."

Everyone realized that he meant the fact that it hadn't snowed for the past couple of weeks.

"I tried to pretend that today was just a normal day," Aramis told them. "Until…" With that, he closed his eyes, obviously fighting tears.

Porthos sighed, remembering finding Aramis nearly frozen to death in Savoy, surrounded by twenty dead musketeers. He squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Aramis—"

"No!" Aramis suddenly said, abruptly standing from the chair and throwing off the blanket. He walked a few steps away and put both hands on his head. "I refuse to let this tragedy destroy me any longer! I'm letting go of it. I'm letting _go_ of it!" Even as he spoke, he saw his dead friends in his mind, lying in the snow as Marsac walked away and left him to die with them. Marsac…who he'd eventually had to kill to save Treville.

Arms suddenly encircled him, and Aramis realized that tears were streaming down his face.

"Grief is normal," Porthos said, hugging him tightly. "It's good to let go, of _course_ it is, but it's not always somethin' that can be done at the drop of a hat."

Aramis let out a loud sigh, resting the side of his face against his friend's shoulder. "I'm so tired of grief," he said, his voice cracking.

"It's an unfortunate part of life," Athos said.

A handkerchief suddenly appeared in Aramis' hand, and he opened his eyes to see d'Artagnan watching him sympathetically.

"The best people always suffer the most," d'Artagnan said. "And it isn't fair."

Those words warmed Aramis' heart, and he gave him a little smile as he pulled away from Porthos and wiped his eyes. "You never even had a chance to meet any of them," he said to d'Artagnan. "You remind me of Claude...he was forever getting into trouble. Remind me to tell you one day of the time that he poured our entire supply of pepper into Serge's stew."

D'Artagnan smiled.

With a sigh, Aramis headed back to the chair before the fire and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and running both hands through his hair.

"How can we help you?" Athos asked.

"I don't know," Aramis said, frustrated. "I didn't want this to happen…I tried so hard to avoid it this time. If I could've gotten through today in one piece, things would've looked so different tomorrow. I would've felt strengthened and free, and that I had succeeded in finally letting go."

"But you _did_ succeed," said Athos, lowering himself to one knee to look him in the face. "You did fine until something happened that you didn't expect."

Aramis lowered his hands and looked at him, realizing that he was right. "It wasn't even just the snow," he said. "It was the surprise of walking out into it and then hearing the gunshots in the dark. The combination of all three…it shook apart the control that I'd had over myself all day."

"Next year, you'll do even better," said Porthos. "You'll see."

D'Artagnan handed Aramis a cup of water that he'd poured from a pitcher on the nearby table. "You're a survivor, Aramis, in more ways than one."

Aramis took the cup and drank, before looking at each one of his friends and realizing that _they_ were what gave him strength. "Yes, I am…thanks to the three of you."

THE END


End file.
